


Lay Your Armor Down

by osprey_archer



Series: Reciprocity [21]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osprey_archer/pseuds/osprey_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bucky’s eyelashes had fallen to half-mast over his eyes. “Like what you see, soldier?”</i>
</p><p>Steve helps Bucky take his armor off after an injury, and they finally talk about the sex thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Your Armor Down

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [littlerhymes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerhymes/pseuds/littlerhymes) for betaing this!

SHIELD had found the Winter Soldier’s armor long before they found Bucky himself: he had left it in a park by the Potomac, not far from where he dumped Steve on the riverbank. After Bucky returned, once Coulson had cleared him for missions again, they gave him the same armor back. They were too strapped for supplies to do otherwise.

They had been strapped for people, too, and Steve wondered sometimes if that was the only reason Coulson had ever let Bucky out of his cell: because he needed all hands on deck, no matter how untrustworthy. 

It wasn’t quite the same armor. There was a sleeve to cover his metal arm – Bucky was insistent about that. No muzzle – Steve insisted on _that_. Buckles in place of the buttons, because Bucky had lost so much weight while he was on the run that the armor had to be strapped tight. It was hard to feed a supersoldier metabolism. 

Steve remembered Bucky right before their first SHIELD mission, leaning against the wall with the armor hanging loose over his shoulders, running his fingers over the open buckles. He hadn’t looked the same as he did when he and Steve fought on the helicarrier. But standing there in the black armor with his loose long hair, he looked a lot more like the Winter Soldier than he looked like James Buchanan Barnes, and it made Steve feel queasy. 

Then Bucky looked up, shaking his hair back out of his face. He didn’t smile, but he said, “Steve,” and that dissolved the knot in Steve’s stomach. “Buckle me up.” 

At the time, Steve thought maybe Bucky was trying to put him at ease – to get him acquainted with the armor. Looking back, Steve suspected that was wishful thinking on his part. Bucky probably just wanted the damn armor buckled. Part of his campaign to make Steve do everything for him. 

Steve never blamed him for that particular demand, though. The buckles were damn hard to do up. Even when things were at their worst between Steve and Bucky, Steve always buckled him up before a mission. 

Started at the bottom, worked his way up, and then pulled the straps snug. Put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, gave the armor a tug to make sure it fit all right. Bucky reached up and put his hands over Steve’s. It was just about the only time he touched Steve with his metal hand. “All set?” Bucky asked.

“All set.”

Steve didn’t usually help Bucky take the armor off unless the mission went south. But this mission – well. 

Steve wouldn’t have been on this mission at all, except that Tony had asked. He called during Steve’s morning jog and said, “So my dad had a secret weapons vault in southern Germany that he forgot about.”

Steve stopped jogging. “Good morning, Tony,” he said. 

“Someone’s found it,” Tony said. His voice sounded wrecked, like he hadn’t slept all night. “And they’re walking around downtown Munich with flamethrowers attached to their arms. I’ve had reporters at my throat since midnight.”

“You want me to help you fix it?” Steve asked. He was a little amazed that Tony was asking for help. It seemed to Steve sometimes that Tony’s emotional development got stuck when his parents died, and a part of Tony would always be an immature nineteen-year-old. 

“I’d do it,” said Tony. “Except, oh wait, I’m still laid up with a broken leg from the sea monster that tried to eat the Statue of Liberty.”

Steve walked alongside the reflecting pool, considering. On the one hand, the prospect of a mission pleased him – no, not just pleased. He’d perked up at the word _mission_ like a dog hearing the word _walk_. Here’s my leash, here’s the door, let’s go! 

But on the other hand… “That really sounds like something SHIELD can take care of, Tony. Why do you need me involved?”

“Some of this stuff is really bad,” Tony said, and the absolute lack of verbal pyrotechnics in that sentence gave Steve pause. “I want to make sure it gets destroyed.”

And with SHIELD’s record, Tony didn’t trust SHIELD to make that happen. 

“I’ll make sure,” Steve said, and felt a little thrill in his stomach, part nerves but mostly excitement. A mission, a mission! “If you can get Coulson to forward Bucky to me.”

Coulson said yes, of course. Probably Coulson hoped getting Steve back in the saddle would get him back on the Bus. 

Bucky certainly hoped so. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but Steve could read the hope in his cheerfulness and charm, the way he grinned at Steve as the doors to the vault exploded, his face glowing red with reflected fire and smudged with ash. “Missed this?” Bucky had asked; and Steve, unguarded, grinning, flushed with exhilaration, answered, “Yeah.” 

And now Steve and Bucky were rattling across southern Germany in a sleeper car with grubby halls and dim lighting. It would have looked at home in a World War II movie if someone had equipped it with proper blackout curtains. “Who told you to go and body-block a pick-up truck?” Steve scolded gently. “Let me see your ribs.”

Bucky braced himself against the corner of the cabin. His mouth quirked into a little smile. “Jealous that I’m more badass than you?” 

“You probably saved May’s life,” Steve said. “But _Jesus_ , Bucky. A pick-up!” 

Bucky’s smile brightened for a moment, but when Steve started to undo the bottom buckle on the armor, Bucky’s jaw clenched and the smile vanished. His eyes took on the dull glazed look that said he was halfway to elsewhere in his head. 

Steve probably would have let him stay there. There was no reason Bucky needed to pay attention to this. But Bucky gave his head a shake, and his eyes focused again, although his forehead creased with pain. “Fuck,” he muttered, and he scooted himself forward till he was lying down on the hard sleeper bed, trying to take the pressure off his ribs. “I’ll let you be the hero next time. It fucking hurts.”

“You’re so generous.” Steve finished the lowest buckle and moved on to the next. He wanted to brush the hair out of Bucky’s face, but he restrained himself and focused on the buckles instead. The train wheels hummed below them. 

Steve had to lean close to Bucky to undo the armor. He could hear Bucky breathing, slow and controlled and trying to stay calm. 

Or maybe just trying to stay present: his eyes were glazing over again. “I wish we had some painkillers for you,” Steve said. 

Bucky gave a little jerk of his head. “’Sokay,” he murmured, and put his fingers on the back of Steve’s wrist.

Steve stopped working on the third buckle. “Am I hurting you?” he asked. 

Bucky shook his head. “Can I…” He had his eyes fixed on his hand on Steve’s wrist, but he flicked them briefly up to Steve’s face. 

Maybe he needed something to focus on to help him stay present. “You can hold on to my wrist if you want,” Steve said. “I’ll tell you if you’re holding too tight.” 

Bucky nodded. Steve continued unbuckling, moving more slowly now just in case he had been hurting Bucky unnecessarily. He expected Bucky to grab tight onto his wrist, but he didn’t, just rested his fingers on Steve’s skin. 

His fingers almost slipped off when Steve moved on to the next buckle, and he did circle his hand around Steve’s wrist then. Not tightly, just pressing a little, his thumb stroking against Steve’s inner wrist. 

The movement almost tickled, and Steve’s hand jumped a little in surprise. Bucky let go of his wrist, letting his hand drop back against the cover, and it made Steve’s hand feel clumsy and too light, so he fumbled the next buckle. 

Steve got the armor undone, finally. He spread Bucky’s armor and pushed up Bucky’s shirt to expose his stomach. A purple bruise spread across his side: at least a couple of ribs broken. 

The bruise extended under the waist of Bucky’s pants. “Bucky, could you…?” Steve gestured at Bucky’s belt. His cheeks flushed. Damn, damn, damn. 

Bucky blinked at him slowly: he really didn’t look all there. But he popped the buckle on his belt, his hands a little clumsy, and undid the button on his pants. His hips were so slim he didn’t even need to unzip to push his pants a few inches down. _Damn._

The bruise only extended a little way down his hip. “Okay,” Steve said. “You’ll keep.” 

“Bet it will be all better before we even get near the doctors,” Bucky said. His forehead was sweaty. 

“They’ll still have to check for internal injuries,” Steve said. Bucky closed his eyes, forehead creasing, and Steve put one hand on the unbruised side of Bucky’s ribcage. Comforting. Bucky’s forehead smoothed. “Just a scan,” Steve said. “Simmons will probably insist on making you a cup of tea after.” 

Bucky frowned again, just a little. Steve smoothed his hand over Bucky’s skin, soothing. Bucky’s skin was warm under his palm, and he felt a little mesmerized by the sight of his hand on Bucky’s stomach. 

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky used to whip his shirt off at every opportunity (or so it had seemed to Steve). Steve sketched him like that, bent shirtless to work on the engine of the Barnes’ rattletrap car, pencil laying down the lines of Bucky’s abdominal muscles like caresses. Close as he thought he’d ever get to touching the real thing. 

Now, rattling along in the train, Steve ran his thumb along the scalloped inner edge of Bucky’s ribs. Bucky’s stomach hollowed out as he inhaled a slow breath, and Steve’s breath hitched. 

“Like what you see, soldier?” 

Bucky’s eyelashes had fallen to half-mast over his eyes. Steve blushed and snatched his hand off Bucky’s ribs. “Sorry –”

“No, don’t – ” said Bucky, reaching for Steve’s hand. The movement pulled at his ribs, and he fell back; but maybe he would have stopped himself anyway, because he clenched his hand on the blankets. He wasn’t blushing – Bucky never blushed – but suddenly he was looking anywhere but Steve, and his eyelashes shaded his eyes. “I know you hated…” He gestured at the lower half of his body. The movement was vague, but Steve could fill in the blank. “Touching me.” 

They hadn’t talked about that at all since Prague – or, indeed, in Prague. Or even before Prague. Steve didn’t feel well equipped to talk about it _now_. But he couldn’t leave Bucky believing that Steve hated touching him. “I didn’t,” said Steve. 

“Don’t fuck with me,” Bucky snapped.

“I’m not,” Steve said. “I didn’t hate – ” God, sometimes he hated his stupid blushing face. “I never hated touching you. I hated that it felt like I could have been anyone. Like I wasn’t even there. Like…” The humiliation was so thick in his throat that it was hard to force the words out. He couldn’t look at Bucky. “Like I was a sex toy. Just something you used to get off. You – I know it’s my fault, I should have just told you no – but it really… It was hard on me.” 

Bucky was playing with the straps on his armor, twisting them between his fingers. Steve felt curiously deflated. He hadn’t expected Bucky to apologize, but – it would have been nice. 

“It’s not your fault,” said Bucky. He tucked his arms around himself. “I mean, Jesus, Steve. I should’ve just stopped asking. It was pretty clear you weren’t happy.”

“You knew that?” Steve was baffled. “Then why keep asking?”

Bucky traced a finger over the creases on the narrow bed’s blanket. “Because I liked it.” He bunched up the blanket in his hand. “Not that it made you unhappy. But the rest of it. I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think what?”

“I just didn’t think.” 

Bucky smoothed the blanket carefully, watching the slow motion of his own hand. He blinked a few times, syrupy slow, like he was half asleep, then lifted his eyes again. “Why’d you do it?” Bucky asked. “When I asked. Why say yes?”

“I wanted to feel close to you,” said Steve, which was true, but not the whole truth or maybe even the important truth. He paused a little before he went on, because he had kept this secret for so long that it was hard to let it go. “And I’ve been,” he said, “a little bit in love with you since we were about fifteen.” 

Bucky shifted a little, and for an awful moment Steve thought he was pulling away. But he settled again: just trying to get comfortable around the pain. 

“Always thought you liked girls,” Bucky said. “Peggy, and all…”

Steve was relieved. “I do. But I like you too.”

“I thought maybe…” Bucky shifted again. “You were just obliging me…”

“Bucky. I know you think I’m ridiculously self-sacrificing – ”

“The whole fucking world _knows_ you’re ridiculously self-sacrificing, Steve.” 

“ – but I said yes because I wanted to. I wanted to touch you. Because I’ve always wanted to touch you. I liked – I like making you feel good, and it felt like the only way I could, sometimes, and…” Steve hadn’t realized he had so much to confess. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you to reciprocate. Even just a little.” 

“You never asked.” Bucky tucked in his chin so his hair fell in his face.

“If I asked, would you have?” Steve asked. Jesus. He could have avoided so much heartache. 

“It would’ve gotten me to stop asking you, anyway.” 

Bucky had his face twisted away. His eyes were glazing up again, and Steve thought it was from more than just the physical pain. 

Then Bucky gave his head a little shake and looked at Steve again. “I think I could be good to you now,” he said. “Or I could try.” Bucky’s hand bunched up on the blanket, and Steve thought of Bucky’s hand on his wrist, so gentle, even though Bucky was in pain himself. “I used to show girls the best time,” he informed Steve, and lowered his lashes so they cast shadows on his cheeks in the overhead light. 

“I know you did,” said Steve. He poked Bucky in the shoulder. “I remember coming back from work early one time, when I was between roommates, and you and your girl – ”

Bucky was grinning. “I would’ve taken her to a hotel, but things added up at the soda fountain, and you were supposed to be out a few more hours, so – ”

“I didn’t tell you where I kept my spare key so you could use it for _that_ , dumbass.” 

Bucky started to laugh, then paled and pressed his hand to his side. “Fuck,” he muttered. He was quiet for a while, letting the pain subside. Then he lifted his eyes to Steve. “So. If you wanted to try again sometime?” 

Steve rubbed his thumb along the edge of Bucky’s ribs again. Bucky’s stomach hollowed out as he sucked in a breath: in too much pain to be properly turned on, but a little excited nonetheless. 

God, he was beautiful. “I think – ” Steve said, and he had to stop, and swallow, and take his hand off Bucky’s skin and pull Bucky’s shirt back down to cover his stomach. “I think. Sometime.”

“Great,” muttered Bucky. He tugged his trousers back in place and fumbled the button closed. “You can just say _no_ , Steve.” 

“If I meant no,” Steve replied, “I’d say it.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, waiting for him to elaborate. _Sometime_ could mean a lot of things, and Steve suspected Bucky hoped it meant _as soon as your ribs stop hurting like hell_. 

It was hard to disappoint Bucky right then, when he was in pain and being so honest. But an unpleasant thought had struck Steve, the sort of thought that would poison him if he didn’t at least bring it up, even though it seemed like an ugly thing to say. “You’re not asking because you’re hoping to seduce me back onto the Bus, are you?” 

Bucky scowled. “No,” he snapped. “I asked because I want to bang you like a screen door in a hurricane.” 

Steve couldn’t help it: he started to laugh. Bucky’s scowl deepened. “I’m not laughing at you,” Steve said, and he wanted to kiss Bucky. But Bucky still flinched when anything got close to his face, so Steve took Bucky’s hand and kissed it instead: the palm, the inner wrist, smiling against the skin. “Like a screen door in a hurricane, huh?” 

“Stop,” said Bucky. He was ducking his head, smiling, and when Steve let go of his hand, he lifted his arm to hide his face. 

Steve leaned against Bucky’s pillow, cradling Bucky’s head in the crook of his arm. He kissed the top of Bucky’s head, rubbed his face in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky laughed and tucked his face against Steve’s shoulder. Bucky’s calloused fingertips brushed lightly over Steve’s cheek, along his jaw, his cheekbone. 

“You like me a little?” Bucky asked, and he sounded almost shy. 

“Kind of a lot,” Steve said, and got a mouthful of Bucky’s hair, and started to laugh again. “God, so much,” he said, and he eased away a little, and admitted, “I think I’m worried that I might seduce myself right back onto the Bus. Just to be with you.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, his expression unreadable. “Fuck you, Steve,” he said, not unkindly. “Why’d you have to go and tell me that?” 

“I trust you.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Bucky said again, irritated and affectionate at the same time. “I’m not trustworthy.” 

“You are too,” Steve said. “I trust you.”

“Bully for you,” said Bucky. He gave a quick crooked smile. “I don’t.” 

The train wheels squealed: slowing down. Bucky ran his hand over his hair, pushing it back in place, and pushed himself to sit. “Buckle me up?” 

Steve buckled Bucky’s armor up again, as gently as he could, although Bucky turned his face away when Steve tightened the straps over his broken ribs. “Sorry,” Steve said. “Is that too tight?”

“It’ll hold things in place,” Bucky said. He put his hand to his side and eased himself into a sitting position again, eyes closed and breathing slow. But he propped himself against the pillow and opened his eyes. 

A knock on the door. Steve’s hand moved to his shield even as his brain processed the fact that it had to be May, making the code knock they’d agreed on: three short taps, Morse code for S. “Is he good to walk?” asked May. 

Bucky swung himself off the bed, steady but pale, and opened the door. “Dunno about that one,” he said, jerking a thumb at Steve. “But I’m good.”

May gave something close to a smile. “Then let’s roll.”


End file.
